


Its Own Conversation

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Kissing, Making Out, Partying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Rhys, go kiss Michael," Tilly ordered, swaying against the bar a little, filled with the conviction reserved solely for the wasted at 0230.Michael was drunk enough that she just laughed, the room swimming around her, everything feeling soft and lovely where she was perched on a stool, part of the group for once. "What are you on about now?"





	Its Own Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned that I really love their parties? Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1024663.html).

"Rhys, go kiss Michael," Tilly ordered, swaying against the bar a little, filled with the conviction reserved solely for the wasted at 0230. 

Michael was drunk enough that she just laughed, the room swimming around her, everything feeling soft and lovely where she was perched on a stool, part of the group for once. "What are you on about now?"

"Kissing! Kissing is great and you need more of it," Tilly had apparently decided. 

The party was on its last legs, most people having dragged themselves to their bunks, only a small dedicated crowd remaining. Empty glasses covered every available surface, but the music had been turned down and roving lights off. Now it was just groups of chatting comrades, Tilly's the largest—eight or so strong, including Michael, Rhys, Bryce, Detmer, and a few others, all in various stages of drunkenness.

Michael probably shouldn't have indulged, but Tilly had insisted with big, pleading eyes and as it turned out, peer pressure was _real_. It was fine, Michael was hardly out of control, but the room was definitely tilting and she was not objecting to Tilly the way she normally would. 

Lowered inhibitions? Also real. 

Michael's eyes slid past Tilly and caught sight of Pike again, off in the corner talking intently to a warrant officer. She idly wondered what they were talking about, but when he looked up and met her gaze, Michael refocused on Tilly. She'd been letting her eyes wander too much tonight. 

"Who says I need more kissing?" Michael asked, genial. 

"You gotta kiss a few frogs to find a prince!" Tilly replied, determined, like this was a continuation of a conversation they'd been having rather than a drunken non sequitur.

"Who says I need a prince?" Michael challenged further. "And even if I did, I hardly think following instructions from a children's fairytale is the best course of action."

"Sure, Miss Alice in Wonderland," Tilly shot back. "Trust me on this one. You are entirely too serious about relationships. It's okay to just make out with someone for fun." Tilly turned to Rhys again. "Rhys, show her."

Rhys smiled and shrugged, stepping up to Michael. She didn't know why she wasn't protesting more seriously; maybe it was the many, many drinks singing in her blood or the way that everyone so easily accepted her tonight, never letting it become awkward. 

Or maybe it was the feeling of someone's eyes on her from across the room, making her whole body hypersensitive and hot. Whatever it was, Michael just smiled and swayed toward Rhys, catching Pike's eye over his shoulder, clocking something speculative in it. 

And then Rhys was pressing his lips to hers, Michael tipping her face up to return the kiss—

The absolutely dead, rote, _passionless_ kiss. It wasn't that Rhys was a bad kisser—he was technically proficient, from what Michael could tell. It just felt like kissing her brother or an inanimate object...a vague affection where there should be a spark. 

Michael couldn't help her laugh as she pulled away, shaking her head at the way the others cheered for them. "I don't think you're my prince, Rhys," she said, patting his shoulder. 

Rhys made an exaggerated _aw, shucks_ motion, the group laughing again. 

Tilly looked around, calling out: "Jansen—wait, did we lose Jansen? Fine, then, Bryce, you're up."

"Tilly..." Michael tried again, but Tilly cut her off. 

"Why you gotta do Bryce like that?"

Michael huffed a laugh, grabbing Bryce's jacket, gamely bringing their mouths together, another perfectly acceptable, perfectly inert kiss. The crowd cheered as Michael pulled back and shook her head at them. "Why any of you care about this is wholly beyond me."

Tilly pouted, "You're not getting into the spirit of things."

"I'm _getting_ another drink," Michael decided, starting toward the galley. 

"Bring it back with a better attitude!" Tilly called after her. 

Michael just laughed and waved a hand behind her, swaying into the galley, noting the absolute disaster area it had become. 

She ignored all the remaining alcohol and made a beeline for the water laid out on a console table, draining one entire glass and then starting on a second. She was going to feel this later, might as well start on the rehydration now. 

Michael heard a soft footfall before a voice interrupted the quiet: "Tilly's wrong, you know."

She turned to find Pike watching her, a little smile hovering around his lips. She leaned back against the console, something warm slipping through her, the same feeling she'd had every time their eyes caught across the room. It was stronger here, where they were alone together. "Is she now?"

Pike stepped forward, taking his own glass of water and leaning next to her. "A kiss isn't a test, nor is it meaningless. A kiss is a conversation."

"Not much of a conversation without words," she said, needling him gently, the alcohol making her bold enough to want to provoke a reaction. She wanted...all sorts of things from him. Usually she was better at policing it. 

Pike flashed a half-smile, amusement ticking up a notch. Then it faded, Pike looking down at her through his lashes, like he was imparting a secret. "That's where you're wrong. A kiss can say all manner of things," he said, the low rumble of his voice burning through her, enticing. "Hello. Goodbye. I love you. Fuck you."

Michael swallowed at the way his lips formed the obscenity, mouth gone dry. She tilted her head, keeping herself in check: "I can't imagine why you'd want to say fuck you with a kiss." 

"You'd be surprised," he said, something appreciative in it, like he had personal experience and wouldn't she like to know. 

The heat inside Michael flared, becoming a living, visceral _thing_ —

And just like that, her control snapped. Screw it. 

Michael stepped close, _into_ his space, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. "And what do you have to say?"

Pike set his water aside with a precise click, mouth quirking up, a nonverbal _oh, it's on_ all the warning she got before he leaned in.

The kiss was soft—not hesitant, more measuring, a light _hello_ that still managed to spark want up and down her spine. Michael dropped her half-empty water glass, instantly forgetting it as Pike settled closer, heat bleeding between their bodies, so very close now. He pressed his lips to hers a little harder, one hand moving to cup her jaw, tilting her head just so. The easy way he did it seared through her, her whole body _reacting_ to the casual command of it, the way she automatically followed his lead. 

Pike pulled away for a breath, changed angle, and kissed her again, harder still, Michael making a noise as her lips tingled against his. She moved forward the last few inches, pressing herself against his chest as her arms draped over his shoulders, one hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him closer. She opened her mouth against his, feeling her nipples harden; she wondered if he could feel it, too. 

Surprisingly, he didn't take the bait, nibbling at her bottom lip before licking it once, light, mouth moving to slide over hers again, denying her what she really wanted. 

Michael flexed her hand in his hair, _hard_ , and Pike broke their kiss with a flash of a grin. Then he dove back in, their tongues meeting, and _yes_ , _this_ is what she wanted, liquid fire careening up Michael's spine as their mouths crashed together, hot and wet. He tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking all night—she'd kept tabs on that, too, the way his mouth looked as he sipped from his glass—and though she normally hated the taste, sampled off his tongue it was downright addictive. 

Pike teased the underside of her tongue with light little flicks and suddenly all Michael could imagine was his head between her thighs, flicking that talented tongue over her clit as she gripped his hair and cried out. He would bring her off with that mouth, patient and precise, figuring out exactly how to use his tongue to make her lose control—little licks around and around, sucking lightly every so often—and giving it to her until she shuddered against him, weakly pushing his head away, too much. 

Michael moaned into Pike's mouth at the image, shifting against his body as hers heated up, the warmth between her legs getting insistent. Pike dropped a hand to her hip, his easy strength holding her still, but even that was a goad, Michael imagining what else he could do with that strength, lifting her up and down on him as he thrust into her, slow and inexorable. 

Pike's kiss changed then, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in a deliberate rhythm, exactly how he would fuck her—deep, slow thrusts that would drive her out of her mind as he stared into her eyes, watching as he methodically took her apart, never letting up until she was calling out for him, desperate. Only then would he kiss her, catching her pleasure in his mouth as he shuddered through his own, the two of them blissed out, drunk on each other. 

Michael sucked on his tongue and whimpered, wanting that so much she could already _feel_ it—the way her body would clench around him as he stoked her pleasure higher—her own body already trembling in anticipation. She couldn't understand how they were still kissing, just mouths and tongues and that one point of heat where Pike's hand held her hip still. They should be in a bed somewhere, learning the taste of each other's skin, the sounds they made as they came. His moan would be quiet, gut-punched, and Michael would curl around him and keep that secret safe, shared just between the two of them. She could feel it in her chest, between her legs, and she wanted—she wanted—

Pike pulled away, eyes glassy with alcohol and lust. Michael moved to follow his mouth with her own, but he stepped back, a chasm of cold air opening between them. He licked his bruised lips. 

When he spoke, his voice was rough, like he'd already been calling her name: "And sometimes, if you're lucky, a kiss can even be a confession." Pike ran his thumb along her bottom lip, eyes gleaming and hot.

And then he walked out. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.


End file.
